Mexico’s BIG Adventure – Whale Watching in Baja’s Lagoons
by Rob Dunton
Why did I wait so long? Why hadn't I followed the siren's call? Entire communities have been making the trek from December to April for millennia - long before New Spain or Mexico existed. Rumors abound in the Arctic Circle that life is good down south during the north's winter months.
Exchanging inescapable cold and relentless storms for relaxation in Baja's soothing 70-80 degree waters is a no-brainer, except for one catch: getting there. Hopping a ride on a cruise ship, airplane or RV isn't an option for a 35-ton whale that wants to soak in Baja's temperate bays. They've got to swim – 5,000 miles each way.
Two-legged mammals made the Baja migration long ago as well. Anthropological studies suggest that humans headed south after crossing a land bridge over the Bering Strait from Asia into North America. The remains of hunted animals place estimates of human arrival in Baja between 10-20,000 years ago. When Hernán Cortéz arrived in the early 1500s, there were an estimated 50,000 Indians in Baja.
I finally gave into my deep yearning last February and spent two-weeks with three good friends driving from San Diego to Cabo San Lucas. We had three primary goals: pet a whale, discover the best fish-tacos in Baja, and enjoy as much R&R and adventure as possible.
After a peaceful night camped on the shore of Laguna Ojo de Liebre (a.k.a. Scammon's Lagoon), we drove 5 ½ miles south of the town of Guerrero Negro until we spotted a cinder block and concrete sign for Parque de Ballenas, hand-painted with brightly colored whales. We pulled off onto the dirt road and continued through the environmentally contested salt plantation. To our left and right, shallow man-made ponds were filled with the lagoon's densely salinated waters. Left to evaporate, massive snowfields of salt formed in the arid desert. We arrived at the shores of the park's tranquil lagoon by 9:15am, in time to win seats on the morning's second rotation of pongas, the long, open fishing boats used in this region of Mexico. As we waited for a boat to arrive, we explored the quiet shoreline.
I had never before seen such a vast, calm and secluded lagoon. It is easy to understand why protective mothers make the trek here to bare their children, suckle them with 60 daily gallons of rich milk (53% fat vs. our 2%) and teach them how to maneuver in the warm, peaceful waters.
Out on the reflective horizon, we spotted our first puffs of exhaling whales. With each tiny geyser our excitement elevated exponentially. One of the pongas finally returned and unloaded its cache of nature lovers, dizzy from the thrill of their close encounters. Their faces beamed like children coming off a first-ever ride at Disneyland. We donned life vests and stepped into ankle deep water to climb aboard. As we motored out, our captain covered the basic safety rules of riding in an open bow boat that is powered by a thrashing propeller, and the fundamentals of interacting with whales.
As we drew closer, the behemoth mammals, eschrichtius robustus, seemed to sleep idly upon the surface – slowly breathing, comfortable and still. Our guide confirmed that whales often nap in the daytime, bobbing comfortably in the shallow waters. Farther away, we spotted other whales randomly frolicking, breaching and spy-hopping – an odd maneuver where a whale pushes its nose straight up out of the water and slowly rotates to check-out what's going on above the surface.
We realized quickly that these were quick, random events, and pleading to our captain to race closer after the fact would be a wasted effort. Instead, we focused on the more stationary infant-mother pairs. Idling up to within 30 feet, baby whales propped their noses onto their mother's backs to get a better view of us, looked about curiously, then sank back down to nuzzle or feed. Others circled their mothers, pestering them endlessly with their youthful energy.
As we floated from one pair to the next, seasoned veterans told us of past encounters where they had attained the whale-watcher's holy grail: actual petting whales, looking them eye-to-eye, and rubbing their blubbery noses. Names like Mag Bay (for Magdalena Bay) and San Ignacio (referring to the Lagoon) sounded like the exclusive jet set destinations of those in the know. One couple, on their fourth trip in as many years, said they found the gray whales in Laguna San Ignacio to be more interactive than anywhere else. We made a mental note: get there.
As our ponga reverently plied the glassy waters, we spent over an hour observing this vast natural nursery, witnessing an astonishing display of warmth and maternalism. I did my best to catch the interactions with my camera, but couldn't capture the emotional high. When our time was up and we headed for shore, it was our turn to be the zealous tourists who traded places with the next set of patiently waiting sightseers.
A sandwich and beverage were included in our ticket price of $25. We walked past a large whale skeleton on display to a simple 20'x 20' snack shop and found it still decorated for El Dia de Amor – Valentines Day. We kicked back in plastic chairs beneath the warm blue sky, snacked on simple tortas, and stared out toward the lagoon where silhouetted whales and miniature geysers danced on the wide mirrored surface.
Laguna San Ignacio
Nine-hundred miles later on our way back north, we turned left in the central square of cobbled San Ignacio toward a dirt road that would carry us 35-miles toward the coastline. A light drizzle began, giving us the only precipitation we had experienced on the entire journey. It quickly eradicated the pervasive dust that typically billowed behind us.
We arrived at a small row of houses that fronted Laguna San Ignacio. Wooden fishing boats were stowed on their backs on the shore, alongside six-foot piles of fishing nets and dried mollusk shells near the waterline. A rough, hand-lettered sign hung on one of the houses: “Best Guide – Domingo – Here.” A weathered man we'd met in the town of San Ignacio had recommended the same. I stopped the car as Domingo's 6-year old son came out chasing a soccer ball he had just kicked proudly into the dirt road. While I coordinated times and a rendezvous point with Domingo for the next morning, my companions and his son played a soccer game on the road-turned-make-shift field. With a wave, they saw us off as we headed to find a campsite for the night.
The next morning we knew the routine: Pack car. Meet boat. Don life jackets. Find whales. And, as prophesized by our boat mates in Ojo de Liebre, the whales in San Ignacio Lagoon were as active and they were inquisitive. The infants, usually 6-10 feet in length and weighing roughly half a ton were like rambunctious puppies in slow motion: they scattered about, climbing all over their mothers, or would dash away to spy on new visitors.
One of the 1200-pound calves spotted our ponga. With the innocence of a child, and protective support of its mother, the newborn ventured out to explore us unafraid. Cautious, defensive mom followed right behind. When the pup arrived at our boat, like a dog coyly sliding its nose up onto the dinner table, the infant mammal inched its nose up onto the rail of the boat until its eye cleared the surface of the water. There it stopped as it spied the odd two-legged creatures in bright orange vests that floundered enthusiastically on a noisy, vibrating stick. While baby explored, momma-whale exhaled and dropped strategically beneath our ponga, and hovered there, perpendicular to out boat just inches below the floorboards.
Our excited group, as instructed, restrained their exuberance, then calmly reached out to stroke the intruding muzzle of the babe. The whale's snout was nearly a foot wide and felt like a slippery, well-inflated car inner tube. As each of us took turns, Cetacean elation enveloped our boat. I became giddy and laughed uncontrollably out of sheer exuberance: I was petting – better yet, massaging – in the wild, one of the most majestic animals on the planet! From the deep, dark eyes that stared kindly at me, it looked as though he was enjoying it, too.
After about ten minutes of communal ecstasy, a silent nod passed between Domingo and another pongero, and he slowly backed away. Seamlessly, another boat replaced ours as the baby whale bobbed and played, oblivious to the bait and switch, allowing another boatload of hungry naturalists to get their fill.